Lone Rider Page 8

  The signal was one of several homing devices Dallas had planted on Sanchez’s beloved pet greyhounds. The animals went everywhere Sanchez went. If Sanchez were going into hiding at the cartel’s headquarters, the dogs would accompany him.

  “Sanchez is waiting to complete one more shipment,” Barry continued. “It should go down within the next two or three weeks. He’s got at least ten women ready to move. And get this: At least two of them are under eighteen. Unfortunately, he’s got them well hidden. He’s already nervous -- if we put the squeeze on him too soon, he’ll take off like a skyrocket. And we could lose the girls. We’ve got to let this deal go down as planned.”

  Dallas frowned, scanning the streets. Barry had a point. There were other considerations besides freeing Tess. The cartel had to be stopped before one more innocent young woman was snatched.

  This wasn’t what Dallas had originally signed on for -- not that he’d have backed down. What was supposed to have been a routine FBI undercover drug operation for Dallas and his partner had quickly expanded once they learned Bogen had connections with Sanchez. Hector Sanchez’s elusive association to the cartel’s white slavery operation had been a bane to international authorities who wanted Sanchez’s boss. The head honcho: Quito Ramon.

  Dallas’ connection to Sanchez through Bogen was the first time anyone had ever gotten so close. Consequently, the scope and duration of Dallas’ assignment changed drastically. He’d been undercover almost two years on a job that had initially been expected to last about three months. And they were too close to turn back now. No matter how tired of it he was.

  “I don’t want to take unnecessary risks with the Marsh woman’s life,” Dallas reiterated.

  “Agreed. But we don’t want to put both of you at risk by acting at the wrong time.” Barry sighed. “Let me check on a few things. Like making sure we can squelch any news stories that surface if she’s reported missing. I’ll leave word with Michaels -- as soon as I catch the bastard. He was taking a day off to go fly fishing, and I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  Matt Michaels was another undercover FBI agent posing as a local mechanic in the nearby town of Jordan. He was Dallas’ partner and intermediary. Dallas had worked with Matt on several other cases. The men worked well together.

  “In the meantime,” Barry continued, “keep the woman as close to you as possible. And stay in touch.”

  After hanging up, Dallas punched in a seventeen-digit code. The cellular phone was one Bogen furnished to all his men. An additional computer chip in Dallas’ phone scrambled his transmissions and allowed only the Bureau to eavesdrop on his conversations.

  The code changed the billing records to show Dallas had indeed placed a call -- to his bookie. The same bookie Bogen occasionally used. In fact, while Dallas spoke with Barry, someone masquerading as Dallas made a simultaneous call of the same duration to the bookie.

  Climbing out of the truck, Dallas hurried into the drugstore. He’d grab a few things for Tess, then pick up Eddie and get back to camp. He didn’t want to leave her alone any longer than necessary.

  * * *

  Tess stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears, disoriented. Count to ten. She’d once been told that you couldn’t count in your dreams. One, two, three...

  And that’s all it had been: a bad dream. She stared at the clock. Two hours had passed. She must have dozed off only to awaken back in the nightmare that had become her life: being chained to Dallas’ bed.

  She shivered, unable to shake the final remnants of the grisly dream in which Snake had dumped her concrete-weighted body into Lake Summer. She’d floated downward in slow motion, sinking in terror to land amidst a watery graveyard of decomposing bodies with fish-eaten eyes. Her lungs ached as she held that final breath, refusing to relinquish her life.

  Seven, eight, nine... She struggled to sit up.

  How would she get out of this mess -- alive and unharmed?

  Dallas’ harrowing description of her potential fate had left her numb. White slavery. Could she survive being sold, being raped, or being made a drug addict?

  A sob broke free. How many women had met fates like this, were victims of such a grossly offensive crime? Did anyone suspect that such a thing had occurred, or were the women assumed to be victims of some other atrocity? What must their families be going through?

  For the millionth time she thought about her own family. In her case, it could be another four weeks before her family even missed her or suspected something was wrong. Her shop was closed for the summer, which gave the two college kids that worked for her a chance to go home until the fall semester. Her mother was husband hunting on the French Riviera. That left her father and brother, who had an empire to run. If Tess remained incommunicado all summer, they’d hardly notice.

  The only other person who might notice her absence was her ex-fiancé, Geoffrey. She knew from her mother’s letters that Madeline was encouraging Geoffrey to “try again.” But Tess had her doubts. Geoffrey had wasted little time finding a suitable replacement.

  The sad truth was no one would miss her on a day-to-day basis. Tess had planned on following the summer craft show circuit across the Midwest, interviewing potential jewelry designers for her shop. Because she had wanted to leave room in her schedule for spontaneous forays, she hadn’t left an itinerary with anyone. And she had used cash the last two times she purchased gas and food, leaving no credit-card trail. Once they discovered her missing, how would they find her?

  Unless someone fortuitously pulled her car up from the lake, it could be a long while before anyone suspected foul play.

  She closed her eyes, thinking about the man Snake had killed, and once again saw the knife plunge, blood spill across the floor. The man hadn’t even cried out. Didn’t beg for mercy. And she’d never felt so helpless and frightened in her life. Matt Michaels. Who would miss him? Family? Friends?

  Bogen seemed to think Michaels was working with someone else. If that someone connected Snake to Michaels, would they come around asking questions? That had seemed to be Bogen’s primary concern. He wasn’t concerned over the fact Snake had murdered a man. He’d been worried it would draw attention to their operation.

  What had she gotten into? Snake was a murderer, but clearly Bogen authorized it. How many cars and bodies lined the bottom of Lake Summer?

  Would Dallas learn about Michaels’ death at this meeting? How would he react? She felt certain Dallas wouldn’t sanction murder. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d turn against Bogen and Snake though. Or did it?

  She recalled Dallas’ warning against letting anyone know her secrets. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed that Dallas, for whatever reason, was indeed trying to protect her. But just how far would he go for her? And how far was she willing to go to test it?

  She shifted positions, recoiling when one of the cuffs chafed against a sore spot on her wrist. She grimaced, seeing the raw skin. After Dallas left, she’d tried in earnest to break free. She had pulled and tugged, determined to squeeze one of her hands through the opening. It had proved futile. Her flesh gave way more readily than stainless steel.

  She tensed when she heard a noise at the front door. Someone was entering the cabin. Please, if it wasn’t the sheriff, let it be Dallas. Pure, choking dread rose in her throat at the thought of Snake or Duke finding her like this.

  Chained.

  Helpless.

  She held her breath as the bedroom door opened slowly.

  “Miss me?” The quip died on his lips as Dallas took in her obvious distress.

  Moving to the bed he unshackled her. Her wrist bled where she’d tried to escape the cuff. Damn it, didn’t she know she couldn’t force them open?

  But could he blame her for trying?

  He tossed the cuffs on the floor, silently cursing the circumstances that required their use. Sitting beside her, he gently pulled her arm forward to examine it.

  She reacted violently, swinging her other arm. “Let me go!” s
he shrieked, launching herself at him, raking his cheek with her nails. “You have no right--”

  Dallas responded without thought, flipping her onto her back and quickly pinning her to the bed, allowing her to vent her frustrations by struggling uselessly beneath him.

  Within moments she settled, turning her face away, eyes closed. He could feel her tremble as she wept.

  For the first time since getting involved with Bogen, Dallas questioned his course of action. God, he didn’t want to be a hero. This slip of a woman had cracked his tough façade, made him want to forget about the others and focus only on her and her needs. Which he couldn’t allow himself to do. Not now, anyway.

  The temptation to put her on his motorcycle and drive as fast and as far as he could was strong. But where would that leave the ten women Sanchez held captive? They deserved their freedom every bit as much as Tess. And if the cartel wasn’t stopped, how many others would be victimized?

  “You can let me up.” Tess’ voice sounded hoarse, but steady. “I won’t fight you again.”

  Dallas studied her, took in her puffy eyes and red-tipped nose. Her bottom lip quivered. The urge to kiss her was strong -- to kiss, to console. To hold her and make things right again. Instead he brushed his fingers lightly against her tear-stained cheek. She shivered with cold.

  “Would you believe I’m more concerned that you don’t hurt yourself?” In one smooth move he rolled onto his feet, leaving her alone in the bedroom.

  Tess sat up, straightening her clothes. Before she could stand, Dallas returned carrying a first-aid kit and a wet towel. Kneeling before her, he took one wrist. When she offered no resistance he gently bathed the abraded skin.

  Tess recoiled, but not from his ministrations. His cheek sported two bloody welts where she’d scratched him. The sight appalled her. What had come over her? She’d never been violent a day in her life, had never physically hurt another person for any reason.

  Until now.

  Was this how it started? How violence begets more violence?

  She reached out and gently touched his cheek, her hand shaking.

  “I’m sorry I scratched you,” she whispered.

  He stared at her a long moment, wishing he could kiss away the hurt, the anguish he saw in her eyes. Instead he looked away.

  “I’m sorry for a lot of things, Tess. Most of which I don’t know how to fix right now.”

  An awkward silence ensued as Dallas smeared antiseptic cream on her wrist. When he finished, Tess picked up the foil tube, weighing it in her palm.

  When Dallas started to stand, she stopped him. Very deliberately she smoothed a small amount of the antiseptic over his scraped cheeks. “If we’re both sorry, that’s a start.”

  For a moment she thought she saw remorse race across his eyes. But just as quickly it disappeared, replaced by that odd, unreadable look she was coming to recognize.

  Dallas tugged her to her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you for a walk outside.”

  * * *

  The days settled into a routine, one indistinguishable from the next. Dallas fixed breakfast, then handcuffed her to the bed -- a stark reminder she was his prisoner. He stayed gone most of the day, never mentioning what he did or where he went. After the first week she quit asking. The second week was harder.

  The notebook Dallas gave her was filled with half-finished jewelry sketches. Uncertainty prevented her from completing most of them, but that didn’t stop her from picking up the notebook daily to battle the nerve-wracking boredom.

  Her thoughts remained a perpetual loop of brooding over the future and reliving the past. Did her family realize she’d been abducted yet? Did anyone even suspect she was missing?

  She thought over Dallas’ warning about keeping her identity secret. Once the press learned that John Marsh’s daughter had been kidnapped it would make headlines, and Bogen would know who she was. In spite of his promises to protect her, could Dallas really protect her if Bogen ordered her killed?

  Thankfully, she hadn’t had contact with any of the other gang members since that first day. Except in her recurring nightmares. Still, she worried every time Dallas left that he might not return. And what would happen to her then?

  Every day that he handcuffed her to the bed was one more day she stayed alive. Had she been in anyone else’s keeping, she didn’t believe that would be true. And he went out of his way to see to her comfort. Left her extra pillows, wrapped cloth around her wrists to avoid chafing. Too bad he didn’t leave the key.

  More and more she wondered what kind of person Dallas really was, how he came to be involved with Bogen. She found him an enigma. He didn’t seem to fit the mold of outlaw.

  He hadn’t kissed her since that first day, though there had been several occasions when she thought he would. And more than once when she had wanted him to. He rose before she did every morning, but not in time to keep her from being aware of him.

  There was no denying the physical attraction that existed between them, an attraction that seemed to flourish with the closeness of her captivity. He was her sole contact with the outside world, and she was dependent on him for virtually everything.

  One night after supper, when she thought she would go crazy from not knowing about her family, Tess brought up the subject. The sun was fading, and she and Dallas were sitting outside on the porch steps.

  “Do you know if my family is looking for me?”

  The forlorn note in her voice tore at Dallas’ gut. He’d talked with Barry two days ago. The Marsh family had not filed a missing person report and was not expected to. Even though she’d been with him two weeks now, her family wouldn’t expect her back for several more. Barry decided not to jeopardize the situation by contacting her family and risking a leak to the press.

  With Matt Michaels’ disappearance, the situation had grown even more volatile. Foul play was strongly suspected, and Dallas could not risk exposing himself by asking questions about Matt in Jordan or the other surrounding towns.

  To do nothing frustrated him. Every day the trail of clues surrounding Matt’s disappearance grew colder. And Dallas knew Barry was every bit as exasperated.

  The only good news was that Sanchez seemed ready to leave his Canadian stronghold. Barry anticipated making arrests soon, and then this house of cards would fall. In the meantime, Dallas’ primary objective was making sure Tess remained safe.

  “I haven’t heard anything,” Dallas finally replied. “But news travels slow in this part of the country.”

  Tess’ shoulders fell as she struggled against tears of self-pity. She supposed she should be grateful her situation hadn’t been jeopardized by public knowledge of her abduction. But that wasn’t much comfort. She wanted to be free. Now.

  “I wonder if I’ll ever see them again,” she whispered.

  Not for the first time he wished he could tell her everything. Except that changed nothing. The cold, hard fact remained that if Bogen learned Dallas’ true identity, Dallas was a dead man. He’d known that from the start. And Tess would end up in a shallow grave beside him. After Bogen did God-knows-what to her. Bogen had a cruel streak as wide as his ass.

  He stood, gruffly pulling her to her feet, eager to change the subject, hoping to lighten the mood. “If you want to take a walk, let’s go.”

  Dusk yielded slowly to darkness as Dallas and Tess walked in silence. She was still no closer to knowing that much about Bogen’s compound. On previous nights they’d walked the different paths through the woods, all of which seemed to circle back on each other and lead right back to his cabin. She suspected the camp had originally been designed that way to prevent little Scouts from getting lost. She also suspected Dallas purposely selected this time of day to take her outside. In the growing darkness the paths appeared similar, which made it even more difficult to memorize their course.

  Still, it felt good to be out and moving. A breeze rustled through the leaves causing her to wrap her arms around herself.

  She walked witho
ut watching her surroundings and was startled when Dallas suddenly pulled her off the path and under the spreading branches of a weeping willow. Sliding a hand gently across her mouth, he whispered, “ssshhhh,” and pointed over her shoulder.

  A short distance ahead, a doe and her twin fawns meandered along the path, spending the last quiet minutes of dusk foraging. Dipping its head beneath its mother’s belly, one fawn nursed, oblivious to the audience. Tess held her breath, enthralled by the sight. By the time the animals wandered off, she had a cramp in her neck from holding still.

  Encircled by his arms, she turned, looking up at him. “They were so beautiful. And so close.”

  Her words echoed his thoughts. She was so beautiful. And so close. Time and circumstance ceased to exist as he lightly drew her against his chest.

  If it was a sin to want someone this bad, then he was damned. He ached with the rawness of desire, searching her eyes for a reason to stop...and finding none.

  His mouth closed over hers, tentative at first, growing bolder when he met no resistance. He whispered her name, drawing her completely into his embrace. His fingers slid into her hair, pressing her scalp, holding her still as his tongue delved deeper.

  Tess’ arms found their way around his neck, her hands tugging at the thick silk of his long hair as she pushed up on tiptoes, opening to his kiss, lowering her guard. She felt his hands move down, inching slowly beneath her jacket. His fingers skimmed her ribs.

  With exquisite tenderness he grazed the undersides of her breasts through her clothes, his knuckles sensitizing the skin. For a moment she imagined his hands on her bare flesh, his fingers on her breasts. Her nipples hardened. Breathing was suddenly difficult. She flexed her hands, rubbing his neck.

  “I want you, Tess.” He groaned, pressing forward, letting her feel the proof of his arousal, desperately wishing she’d caress him there.

  Waves of uncertain delight battered her, making it hard to think. His low growl sent goose bumps zinging up her spine. She had already tugged his T-shirt free -- when? -- and edged her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, fidgeting with the top button. Seeking.